


The Sting of a Thousand Bees

by Oliver_The_Meme_King



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt John Watson, M/M, Murder Mystery, Serial Killers, Sherlock Holmes and Bees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-01-26 13:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21374779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver_The_Meme_King/pseuds/Oliver_The_Meme_King
Summary: Just getting off the case of a strangled man, John and Sherlock are left without a case to solve. Until John stumbles on to an article published by the newspaper London Cenrtral. A man had just been stung to death by bees, a simple murder, an eight at most. What they dont expect is the killer has more in store than what they had bargained for."They call it a freak accident, killed by a bunch of bees.""Allergies?""None at all."
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. The cuts hidden beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reapersun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapersun/gifts).

"Well, obviously it's the blonde highlighted brunette in the crowd over there that did it." His voice sharp with boredom, the words running off his tongue in an uncaring manner, like he wasn't sentencing someone to a lifetime in jail.  
"And how did you come to that conclusion." Detective Lestrade the captain of the police force spoke. His voice gruffer and more authoritative tone, though not quite questioning the man before him, more wondering how the man came to this conclusion.   
I saw Sherlock, the man who had just spewed out who the murder was, smile. He quickly snapped back around, his coat snapping in the wind as he turned towards the body. Dropping to the ground balancing on the top of his toes, his actions almost deafening silence. He lifts up his gloved hand, the black leather gloves thick as he pulls on the suit of the dead man lying on the ground. The dark black and blue bruises are now more noticeable with the fabric pulled back. He tilts his head back to Lestrade.   
"You can see here." He used his gloved hand to point at a spot where the skin had been torn, a shape similar to a crescent moon. "This shows they couldn't have blunt nails, they would never be able to make these wounds, and seeing from how deep these wounds are, they had to have long nails." He glanced back down at the body, now slightly leaning over the body, shifting on his feet to get a better look at the wounds. "The longer the nails, the more fragile they are, which means their nails most likely broke during the strangling." I saw Lestrade nod in agreement his dark brown eyes shift as he looked across the neck of the victim, you could see the wheels turning in his brain, wondering why he didn't figure that out.   
"You can see little bits of pieces of pink nail polish crusting along with the wounds." His voice pierced through the silence as he shifted, closing his gloves around something.  
He opened his palm showing the pink speck that was standing out against the black leather of his gloves before pinching it together and dropping it to the ground. He brushed off his hands, most likely to get the remainder of the pink specks off his gloves, as he brings himself up to a standing position his hands at his side as he turns his body around to face us again. He glanced at me before turning his gaze back to the detective, his eyes hinting his slight annoyance that he has to repeat himself.  
"Now, who appears to have chipped nails, and pink nail polish that appears to be peeling off?" His face pulled into a smile knowing that he had enough evidence to arrest the person in question. "The blonde highlighted brunette in the crowd out there."   
"Fantastic," I mumbled out in awe, it always amazes me how quickly he can solve cases that the police had to call him to solve. No matter how many times I see it, it never fails to amaze me.  
"And why would they wait in the crowd?" Lestrade questioned as he ran a hand through his short grey hair, already giving a hand signal to the police to go after the suspect in question.   
"Why do you think?" His voice came out like a snarky snort, being annoyed at having to explain at least to him was 'obvious'. "To avoid suspicion." His tone spoke of an eye roll despite not actually rolling his eyes. "If you stand in the crowd, trying to figure out what happened, you seem less suspicious." He rolled his eyes, believing this 'uninteresting' case was dragging on for far too long. Believing that staying here was a useless waste of time, I could sense this, and in order to defuse this situation, I used what was every genius's weakness was. Recognition.   
"Well, they clearly can't fool you." I saw his coat flow behind him as he turned and started to walk off briskly, I fought to catch up with him, being shorter in stature, as we started walking away from the crime scene, already hearing the police shouting as the women tried to run before eventually being pushed down to the ground and handcuffed.  
"Indeed." I jumped slightly at the sound as he turned his head toward me, giving me a small smirk. He stopped briefly, bringing his hands up from his side as he brought up the yellow 'crime scene' tape pulling it above both of our heads as he allowed me to walk under first. Following in my footsteps quickly after, now walking in front of me once again.   
"Honestly Sherlock, how do you do it?" I almost laughed out in awe, I knew the answer, but at the same time was completely dumbfounded. I watched as he stuck out his hand, trying to hail a cab as he turned to look at me. Speaking out in a confident, but bored tone.   
"By deduction." Was his two-word answer as a cab came to a stop, and Sherlock popped open the door pulling it all the way out. Already waiting for me to get in first, so he may follow after.  
I nodded thanks to him, despite him not really caring, as I quickly pushed my way into the cab. Plopping down on the surprisingly soft seats of the cab as I turned my head to look out the window. Allowing Sherlock to give directions to where he would want to go next, knowing he was unpredictable on where he would want to go to next.   
"221B Baker Street." The words poured through his lips in a careless manner. I watched as his blank face turned into a grim expression as he turned to look directly at me.  
"I have really been hoping it would be harder to solve." He grumbled out angrily, his tone lower than normal. "But no, the woman had to be hanging out in the crowd." He paused turning his head away from me to look back out the window. "Would've been much more fascinating if she wasn't." I couldn't help the chuckle that escapes out of my mouth as I shook my head at how hilariously upset he was that he caught the criminal quickly.   
"It would've." I wouldn't be on to deny it. It certainly would've been far more interesting having to chase down the killer, rather than leaving it over to the police to handle it. The car hit a rough bump causing me to look away and concentrate on not bumping my head into the window beside me. I turned back to see him seemingly stuck in his mind palace before suddenly snapped out of it.  
"John." He had now turned his head to look at me, his eyes having a questioning look in them, a question yet to be solved.  
"Mm?" Was my only response as I looked at him just as confused as him, it seemed like he was trying to figure something out. But what? I stared at him waiting for his reply, deciding not to push it.   
"Caring is a chemical defect is it not?" I hummed, this used to be a common conversation, well more of a statement at the beginning of our partnership. Why is he stating it as if he's trying to convince himself his opinion was right. If he ever believed that his opinion was wrong.  
"Well, no. It's in our nature to seek close connections with people, even in certain scenarios, it helps put pressure on you that could result in you getting to the answer quicker." I gave a soft nod at the end. My mind feeling authoritative on my feelings. Believing I had good evidence to support human interaction having benefits to people and society as a whole.  
"Yes, that is all true. It is in our nature to seek out intimate relationships. The real question to be asking is whether it is truly beneficial or not. While correct in certain scenarios it can help you solve problems or get to solutions quicker, it could also lead you to panic and get things wrong. Which in return puts you in more danger than you would have been without caring." He glanced down at his hands, a stray piece of his curly black hair flung down from his face, covering up a slight view of his left eye. He didn't seem to care or notice as he lifted his head back up to look out the window. His stray hair seemingly falling out of the way of his eye with the slight movement.   
"I… well yes. That does happen." I stammered out, I wasn't quite sure how to respond, I never had to think hard on a subject like this before. We never delved this deep into a conversation like this. We never, I found my eyebrows pulling together as my eyes glanced off to the side, glazed over. I found my voice becoming stronger as a working suspicion clouded up within me. "Why are you mentioning this all of a sudden?"   
"That means more danger than necessary could be brought upon you." He mumbled out, his eyebrows pulling into an almost angry expression, his black brows making his blue eyes stand out in comparison. His eyes had a look I couldn't quite place an emotion on as he continued to gaze out the window watching London fly by.  
"I did sign up for this. You say danger, and I come." I was paraphrasing him, a line he told me not too long after we met. An accurate statement despite how long ago it was said. I thrived off danger and the thrill it gave to me, no matter how hard I try, I would never be able to turn away on this life Sherlock created for me.  
"Yes." He hissed out his eyes shifting more into danger and anger. Similar to the Hounds of Baskerville, scared and even more angry if that was all possible. Snapping his head towards me, his words spoke in a whispered hiss, his eyes glinting bright blue flames. "But that doesn't stop the fact that you might die." His voice snapped through the air harshly, his words punching into my gut as he whipped his head away from me. His pitch-black curls snapping rapidly at the movement of his head.  
"Oh really?" I laughed out exasperated. This conversation felt extremely idiotic. Especially considering the fact that I got into an argument with a store's shopping machine. "Says the guy who faked his death for two years." The hiss of judgment was out of my mouth before I could stop it, the words spilling toxicity all over with every syllable.  
Sherlock growled something that seemed unreal based on the anatomy of human vocal cords, but he had managed to make every syllable of his words spoken with a rumbling growl. His head already snapped back towards me as the words I feared to hear come out of his mouth poured out.   
"And killed your wife." His breathing sounded like a harsh pounding, each deep exhale of air sounding like rumbling thunder of anger, the lighting collected in it ready to strike on an unknowing victim. "And yet…" His voice cracked as his tone took a softer tone his whole face seemed to soften along with it as if he came to realize something he hadn't been able to crack before. "You still stay." He let a deep exhale out, all fight let within him, fading into a look similar to pain as he slowly turned his head away from me. His eyes unfocused, and glazed over.   
I could feel all my anger fade away, deep coiling of regret filling in my gut. I felt sick. I couldn't see it before now, but I could now. Sherlock was trying to push me away, he wanted me to leave him, but not because he saw me as a weakness. But because he couldn't see me killed by what he believes is his hands, he cared too much to allow that to happen. I felt my eyes close, by world turning into black as I let out a soft exhale somehow feeling as if it was crystallizing in front of me. I opened them the world of somber colors as the world around me filed back into my senses. I had made my decision. I bit the inside of my cheek, my fingers twitching at my side, sensing what was about to come. My arm felt heavy as I reached it up, my hands just nearly hovering about his shoulder.  
My hand shook slightly as I debated whether I should take this action or not. He normally didn't enjoy physical contact, but this was different, this was a comfort. I had to do this. Without really realizing it, my hand was already gently resting on the shoulder of the man to the side of me. I felt him tense beneath my fingertips as his shoulder lifts up before settling back down, his whole posture now relaxing. I hadn't even realized how tense he had been, his eyes shifting into a tone of a numbing blank like he was leaving the world to join bis mind in a place of calm.  
"I'm sorry," My voice cracked, my true emotions leaking through more so then I had attended, I had to be strong. "It wasn't right for me to do that." I felt the whisper escape my lip, as I felt shame flow around me, biting my bottom lip trying to hold back the emotions ready to overflow. My eyes moving to glance down onto my lap, where my other hand rested blankly. Over the years of becoming partners with Sherlock, I learned certain things. Like how he tended to express his emotions different than what you would expect. In was I still have a hard time deciphering, his own silent language.  
"John," His voice is a rumbling comfort, contrasting greatly against his rumbling growl. I knew instantly that he turned his head to face me, I could feel those piercing blue eyes staring a hole into my skull. The pressure felt uncomfortable making me close my eyes, and feel the need to turn away and urge I followed through on. "We both know that I was also in the wrong. It is I who should be apologizing to you."   
I felt a soft smile form without my consent on my face, giving a little sniff. Pushing back on my emotions that were previously begging to be released. He rarely apologized, when he did, it meant something, it told me that he meant it. This was something he didn't just do to anyone, it made me feel like I was in good hands, like he would care for me until he could not. It made me special. I heard the ruffling of the fabric against fabric before I had felt a soft but firm arm wrap around my waist, his leather gloves curling around my coat despite the limited grip his gloves proved to have. My mind blanked as he softly nudged my side, the purpose of the movement to encourage me to tip over. I gesture I gladly accepted as I put my head on his clothed chest. My eyes closing in comfort.   
I could feel his hand move from where it rested upon my waist move up, he brushed his hand up my side gently touching everywhere until the hand found its place on the side of my head. I could feel his fingers flexing to bent against the gloves as his fingers more soft soothing circles against my skull  
His head coming down to rest upon mine as we both spoke nothing, but said everything.  
The rest of the car ride, we stayed in this comforting silence of sounds. Holding onto each other like it was the last time we would ever be able to do it. Because it very well could be, we could lose each other in an instant. So we held each other tightly, for we might lose each other, but we wouldn't lose this moment. 

\-------

I felt the page crinkle beneath my grip, as my licked wet finger, pushed itself between the pages, pulling them apart and opening up the world of the newspaper. I was glancing at the titles of the stories of London, trying to figure out what this place had in store for us today. I couldn't control my soft laugh that escapes as a headline caught my attention. One that very well might be an adventure to go on in order to solve. I bit my bottom lip holding back my smile.  
"They call it a freak accident." I tried to hold a neutral tone, trying to seem uninterested as I turned my head to look up at Sherlock, who was sitting on the couch across from me. He took a rather usual strange position on the couch. He was balancing on the tip of his toes his feet resting against the couch. He was wearing his normal jeans, and his famous purple shirt, his black curly hair still a stylized mess as he rested his hands beneath his chin. His eyes were closed in concentration, the only sign to show he had even heard me was the slight twitching of his eyebrow, showing his interest in what I had spoken. "Killed by a bunch of bees." I saw Sherlock bounce up, kicking his feet from beneath him as he fell down, the bounce off the couch catching his fall as he now sat up and leaned forward, his hands were in the same position, but his eyes were now open and staring directly at me. His eyes filled with puzzles as he questioned how this could be possible.  
"Allergies?" He questioned his eyes going slightly unfocused as he considered this option.   
"None at all," I spoke in a smirk, confident, I knew this would excite him, and felt rewarded as the in his eyes a glint of excitement formed. Calculating all the possible solutions, discarding some, and keeping others in the realm of possibility. He leaned even more forward as he elbows rested against his knees. Concentrating.  
"Apparently if you get enough bee stings, it could kill anyone, whether they have an allergy or not," I grunted as I saw the excitement flutter out of his eyes. He closed his eyes as he leaned back against the couch, his head turning to look at the ceiling. His exhale of breath sounded disappointed despite no words left his mouth.   
"Boring." He spoke out his mind, his tone matching what he spoke as his lip curled up into a snarl, finding it annoying that there wasn't a clever murder out there, just waiting for Sherlock to catch him.  
"Don't judge too quickly." I found my eyes rolling at his behavior as he turned his body towards me with an expression only to be described as a slightly bored 'try me'. "According to the statement given by Lestrade." I saw recognition flow into his face before it quickly turned into annoyance, wanting me to finish as quickly as possible. "They still don't have a clue how or why so many bees were hanging out in that area, especially enough to kill a healthy adult."  
I watched as a big grin found its way onto his face once again. He used his hands to push himself off the couch, his eyes glinting as he walked his way over me, walking over the table like it wasn't even there as he stood right in front of me. With a big grin on his face, he put his hands on my shoulders as he mumbled.   
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." He leaned down and placed a small kiss upon my forehead, heating up my cheeks as I couldn't stop the smile on my face, a genuinely happy smile. I felt accomplished and proud to find a case that Sherlock didn't believe was a waste of time. Just as quickly as he bent down, he snapped himself up, making sure not to put pressure on my wounded shoulder as he stood. He briskly walked over to the coat rack, swinging his black slick cuffed coat over his shoulders, slipping his arms into the sleeves, as I pushed myself off my chair as I walked over, slipping on my coat as well as he opened his phone. I smiled as I reached up bringing down his dark purple scarf, his fingers speedily typing out a text to someone I can only assume was ethier Molly or Lestrade.  
"Thank you, John." The tone receipts of the Sherlock I grew to learn and love. He precisely shoved his phone in his pocket without taking an eye off of me.   
He then reaches out and softly clasped around the scarf from my hand. Pulling it out before flipping it around his neck, the purple a blur as it swung rapidly reaching the other side of his neck to his awaiting hand. Pulling it fully around he loops it into a knot, securing the fluffy scarf around his neck. While he was busy I gave my hand a slight run through my grayish blonde hair, feeling it move across my sculpt as I try to predict how my hair was without having a mirror to glance into. Before I had even finished combing my hair down as best as possible he had already opened up the door. His coat flowed behind him as he quickly starting running down the stairs. I could hear his dark black shoes thumping against the wood as he made his way down the flight of stairs. I followed quickly behind, reaching the bottom of the stairs a split second before Mrs. Hudson (who is not our housekeeper) walked in through the door.  
"Another case already boys?" Her voice was a comfort to hear, but her voice held a tone that was a bit distraught.  
"Yes, Ms. Hudson." Sherlock had smiled as I found my way next to him near the door. "The game is on." With that, we were out the door within a second.  
He seemed to have another miraculous ability because as soon as Sherlock's hand stuck out, a cab pulled over the side. Something I still struggled to accomplish dispute the fact he blended into the surroundings behind him. Just like before he had opened up the door for me, more excitedly this time we both entered the car, the door slamming behind Sherlock in his attempt to get to our destination quicker.  
"So where are we going?" The question hung in the air as he didn't answer, instead, he leaned forward in his seat to speak to the cabbie driver. My question was answered soon after when he gave the cabbie the address to the morgue where we had first met. And presumably where Molly had the man who was stung to death laying around. I could feel a smirk perk up my lips as I turned and looked at him. "I guess that answers my question." I out an airy laugh out turning my head to the side looking through the window as the cabbie put the car into drive and started on its journey to the morgue.  
"Indeed"  
We had exited the car before it even had even come to a complete stop. The cabbie slightly cursing as I more so had to toss the money in his direction to keep up with Sherlock's pace. I still had to jog quickly to meet up with him, using both hands to push open the doors as he sped walked through the narrow but long bright white walls of the morgue. We had made it into the room to which Molly and Lestrade were waiting, Molly having a slightly nervous expression, most likely for having Sherlock in the room, but was nonetheless ready for any commands that happened to come her way. Lestrade seemed annoyed and more so bored, seemingly ready to 'get on with it already'.  
"I see you got my text." Sherlock hadn't even turned his head, but everyone knew he had acknowledged Lestrade nonetheless, who was standing to the left side black plastic-wrapped body, which was resting on top of the silver-colored metal. His arms were crossed as he lifted up one grey eyebrows in a questioning look, that had made him seem even more annoyed than previously despite the fact he clearly wanted to hear the questions and answers tumbling around in Sherlock's mind.  
"This better be good Sherlock." Lestrade had mumbled darkly turning his head towards the body behind him. His expression settling on one of slight annoyance but intrigue. Waiting for Sherlock to explain his reasoning for why he was interested in this case in the first place.  
"Oh, it will be." The voice muffled as his mine focused more on the covered dead man in front of him, rather than how much his voice is projecting to someone who already could probably already guess what they were saying. Star gazed he walked closer to the body, slightly already bending down to inspect the black wrinkled plastic. The only thing in his way from inspecting the mystery that is the man who died from bee stings. Sherlock tilted his head up giving a soft glance, one that Molly instantly recognized and bringing her hand up to the top of the zipper, grabbing the silver handle as she pulls it back. The recognizable sound of a zipper being drawn back flowed throughout the entire room, complete silence being broken the noise of promise. The noise of adventure.  
Before the whole body had even been uncovered, you could see all the inflamed red circles littered around his entire face, facial expressions almost unrecognizable. His eyes seemed to be sewn shut with inflammation, his light brown hair messy and curled falling down into a sideburn on his face, the light stubble littering across his chin and neck, his body unrealistically large due to all the tiny pricks that had found their way into them. Once the whole body was uncovered, Sherlock instantly brought out his pocket-sized magnifying glass, sliding it open.  
I saw him lean down, hovering just above the forehead of the man, studying each crevice and bite mark. He was trying desperately to find some sorry for evidence of misconduct, any sort of evidence besides how this man's circumstances of his death, to prove that this man was indeed murdered in cold blood. Once he got to the feet, he stood straight up, his eyes tumbling with questions, one's yet to be answered as he shut the magnifying glass closed with one of the index fingers. He stood still for a minute as if he was contemplating his next move before his eyes turned blank as he decided what to do. He spun on his heels to face the hard face detective, bringing his black-gloved hand from his side, holding it palm facing up. He brings his fingers up and down, a sign for 'give me', as he spoke out what he demanded to have.   
"I would like to see a photo of this man and the crime scene." Lestrade's face turned into one similar as a skull, rolling his eyes, but reaching into his coat pocket nonetheless.  
"You better be lucky I expected you to say that." The paper made a slight drinking sound, as he pulled the white folded up papers out of his dark grey coat pocket. The papers were almost placed into Sherlock's outstretched hand, but they were snapped away at the last second, his brown gloved hand moving up to point a sharp finger at the man in question.   
"I'm pulling a lot of strings to let you see this. You cannot disclose any information about this case. Got it?" His voice was stern, like a father warning their son about misbehaving, but still having some form of hope it won't happen.  
"You pulled the strings because you need me," Sherlock mumbled out, a was a conversation they had during similar cases to this. This created a situation where Sherlock didn't care much to answer (if there even is a time he did truly care)   
"Now give it over." They once again did the 'give me signal' clearly being annoyed at how long it was taking for his demand to be met.  
"Got it?" Despite everything, detective Lestrade knew his job and knew how to do it well. Knew the ups and downs of the laws of law enforcers, laws Sherlock didn't care to follow, and for the most part, ignored. If detective Lestrade was going to allow the man in front of his access to these case files, he was going to be darn sure that Sherlock wasn't going to mess this up for him.  
"Yes, Lestrade." His words syllables strung out longer in his slightly hostile sarcastic tone even with his back turned towards me. The words spoke of an eye roll that even a blind man could see, one he surely making towards the detective. The same detective how slapped the papers into his gloved hand harsher than what was entirely necessary. "Good." Lestrade's voice was a dark rumble of promise, the promise of making sure that Sherlock would hold up his end of the bargain. No matter what it would take to ensure that promise. "Make sure to keep him in shape John. I don't want to deal with Sherlock's screwups today."   
I felt a chuckle flow out of my mouth in response, smirking as Sherlock turned around to face me, his eyes fuming that you could practically see the smoke flowing out of his ears, and the lighting of the flame in his eyes.  
"What do you think I normally do?" That got a snort out of the stone face Lestrade, his eyes crinkling into a smile as Sherlock whipped his head around to give the man a snarl.  
"Let me guess. He always does the opposite of what you ask?" I nodded my head laughing while Sherlock in the background of our conversation let out a harsh grunt of air, making public his annoyance at being the main point of the joke.  
"Jokes relating me to a child again?" He growled out, finding the jokes ridiculously childish. His body now turned to the side, now being able to look at both of us at the same time.  
"You think a child could do all of this." His arms raising up from his sides, bringing to attention the scenery around us. It didn't help his point as he was pointing out the obvious like we couldn't understand what he was referring to.   
"Your right Sherlock." Sherlock puffed out his chest a soft huff escaping his lips as he covered his arms around his chest, the folded papers secured in his right hand which was being covered by his left. "They could probably solve it quicker." Sherlock bolted up, his eyes wide as he snapped his head to face me entirely, his right hand unfolding to point towards Lestrade who didn't notice as he let out a deep chuckle.   
"What does that make Lestrade then? A fetus?" The words were like a knife cutting through metal, Lestrade snapping out of his laughing fit to snap up his head to glare at Sherlock.  
I couldn't stop laughing as I doubled over in laughter, hearing Molly join in with her own light higher-pitched chuckle. The words that had spilled out of Sherlock's mouth haphazardly we're absolutely, hilariously entertaining to me.  
"Alright, alright. Let's move on here, I need to get back to my police work." Lestrade's gruff voice was the voice of reason, just as much as it was the one trying to make you forget.  
"Of course." Sherlock's body straightened up from his slouch, his eyes crinkling as a smile plopped on his face. He moved the files from his right hand over to his left so he was able to use his right to grab the edge of the paper, and unfold the papers. He did with the speed that was as quick as he was willing to risk without risking the possibility of ripping the paper.   
His eyes flicked across the paper in almost complete silence. His pale blue eyes blank, and his facial expressions neutral giving away nothing to as to what he was reading as he skimmed across the coroner's report. He cracked his right hand out through the air, shoving the report in Lestrade's face without glancing up from the pictures that were now in view. I strolled my way over to Sherlock, tempted to see the crime scene within his hands. I walked behind him, standing on the top of my toes, glancing over Sherlock's shoulder as he shuffled through the photos.   
As he was shuffling through, giving a slight glance at each one before moving it to the back of the pile, something caught my eye. I found my hand shooting out from behind me, and landing on top of Sherlock's glove successfully prevented him from moving it to the back of the pile. His head slowly turned his head to the right to stare at me his eyebrows were drawn closer in and confusion laced expression. I briskly closed my other hand around the photo, taking it out of his hand bringing it closer to my face for closer inspection. I could feel the beginning of a headache form as I forced my brows to furrow to be able to better focus on the photo in front of me, rather than the seventy or noise around me.   
Its photo was one of the man's right hand, his palm was facing away from the shot, leaving the outside visible. This was different from how the body was laid out on the table behind us, most likely due to the customary actions of the morgue. It was hard for me to make out as the bee stings swelled their way around the, what I could only assume, cut. All I could figure out was that there was a definite scar of something right above where the fingers meet the base of the hand. That something was the thing I couldn't quite figure out. But I knew who could. I lifted up my finger, watching as Sherlock followed the movement as I pointed towards the spot in question, tilting my head up to stare up at him.  
"Can you make out what this is?" I watched as his eyes furrowed together snatching the photo out of my hand. He tossed the other one's behind him onto the awaiting table, starting to pace as his eyes ran across the photo. I saw his eyes indicate a presence of recognition before he went blank face continuing to stare at it puzzledly.  
"Spit it out," I piped in, wanting to be caught up in what Sherlock had already gathered on the wound of the victim.  
"It looks like a letter of some sort." His voice was a low rumble in return, his voice soft compared to the intense tone I took. "I just can't figure out which one." I found my eyes rolling without conscious thought, despite how smart he could be he always seemed to ignore the obvious answers to questions in favor of figuring it out using elaborate techniques.  
"You realize you can always check the body." My voice came to a slightly exasperated annoyed tone lifting up one eyebrow as I stared blankly at the man in front of me. I could feel his face heat up as his eyes when blank, his mouth falling open into an 'o' shape. Before snapping out of his trance, quickly moving towards the body from where he had stood.   
"Of course my dear Watson." He spoke as he made his way over to me, once again pulling out his handing pocket magnifying glass as he leaned down toward the body. He slipped his gloved hand under the dead man's, picking it up and turning it over so the palm is facing downwards. Now giving us a better view of the injury the man seemed to be supporting. Now that we knew learned what we were looking for, it became easier to spot it, the wound on his hand became quickly focused on by my eyes as I leaned over the body as well. The image of what letter it was remained fuzzy inside my mind, till all the pieces clicked together and the puzzle was solved.   
"It's the letter K." My voice was similar to one of a whisper, awe flooding through my mouth from being able to solve the mystery of the letter carved into his skin.  
"Yes, It appears so." Sherlock snapped his spine straight, moving almost seamlessly to the other side of the table, where Molly quickly moved out of the way of his flowing coat. I followed quickly behind him, giving Molly a quick wave of my hand as an apology before finding my way besides Sherlock. He wrapped his hand around the hand, picking it up, and studying using the same treatment as the other.   
"There is two LL's," I mumbled out trying to catch up Lestrade in the 'breakthrough of the case' as Sherlock placed the hand back down on the table, keeping silent as his eyes glazed over, his eyes staring off into space.  
"What is that? Some sort of cult symbol?" Lestrade spoke up, his face contorting into one of confusion as he put his hand underneath his chin, his eyes downcasting to the floor. Not even a few seconds later he decided to join us to inspect the wounds inflicted on the victim. He found his way to the left of me, picking up the hand Sherlock had discarded, lifting it up and nodded his yes head as he came to the same conclusion as us.   
"K, LL," I spoke out more to myself than anyone else. "Why a K and an LL? That doesn't make much sense." I found myself closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Trying to make the images form in my mind, moving through and discarding alternatives. It couldn't be morse code, these are fresh so it couldn't be from some sort of organization that had veered its ugly head against him. That's when an idea hit me, something that had the potential to be valid.  
"Are we sure that these are the only letters?" Everyone's heads snapped up at the suggestion, their minds already turning gears as Sherlock started moving to the top of the body to inspect, while I and Lestrade followed suit but towards the bottom working off the shoes of the man. Lestrade on the left of me.  
"Thiers an E here." Lestrade was the first one to speak, he had mumbled it out after getting the left shoe off the man. The cut was easy to spot as it wasn't surrounded by a bunch of bees stings as his shoes protected his feet.  
"I have an R," I mumbled out not so soon after him, glancing up at Sherlock to see if he had found anything as well to help complete the puzzle where all the pieces were askew.  
Sherlock didn't speak as he moved up from the dead guy's shoulders to push around the individual hairs on the top of his skull. I saw him straighten up, his eyes calculating each possibility of what was possible. His eyes all of a sudden shined with knowledge as he figured out the answer speaking it out in a dark rumble left his mouth in a sound that helped everyone understand the power of the words spoken.  
"Killer."


	2. The Study of Trials

"Killer…" Another whisper had left my mouth, but this one was one of fear, the killer had told us something. Whether it was about the person they killed or the killer themselves. Either way, it was, the risk to do could help us catch them. So why take the time to carve in the words on the man's skin? What was so important that they felt as if they had to do it?   
"So they wrote of Killer on the body?" Lestrade was the first one to speak up from the silence, his head tilting up to glance at Sherlock across the table. His tone was slightly questioning as if he was trying to see if there was another way to see this scenario.  
"Yes unless they were meaning rille. Which is not possible because I can see a K right here." His gloved hand pointed at the bottom of the man's skull. Lestrade and I turned our heads towards each other, and without speaking we nodded our heads. A silent agreement that we had both believed Sherlocks claims."I guess I should call this into the department then." He mumbled out, walking over to the right side of the room as he pulled out his phone out of his coat pocket.  
"Why put it in an extremely out of the way manner? What was the purpose?" I chimed in with a question of my own. I was trying the figure out and questioning the actions and mannerisms about how the murder decided to portray his victim. "Wouldn't they want to put that broad and center? To show why this act has been committed?" I had come to the conclusion, not a second later after saying that sentence, that the cuts that spell out killer we're intended to show what the killer thought of the victim.  
"That's the interesting part." Sherlock smoothed out with his bright shiny teeth coming into view. "They wanted it to be seen as an accident, " He paused for dramatic effect. "But couldn't help but degrade the dead man they saw as immoral."   
His feet wherein the air he lifted himself off the ground leaping up and down in the air. Wildly bouncing his arms up and down as a silent chant 'yes' rumbled out of his mouth. He jogged towards me, his coat following close behind as he latched his hands upon my shoulders in a tight embrace. "This is going to be a fun case indeed."   
I found myself rolling my eyes as Sherlock jumped over towards Molly giving a silent handwave as a signal for Molly to close up the bag back up. Molly had quickly gone to work as Sherlock started speed walking in the door. Only Sherlock could find murder fun. Well, that and me. I found a deep chuckle rising out of my chest as Sherlock turned around from the door shouting out.  
"You coming? We have a murder to solve." I could tell that his eyes were gleaming brightly despite the fact he was halfway across the room. I shook my head side from side, starting to walk over to Sherlock.  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Hold your horses."

\-----

It had been two hours since we left the morgue, and made it back home. And for the last hour and forty-five minutes. (If you took out the car ride home) Sherlock had been laying around soberly on the stretched out about the whole couch. I could practically feel my icy glare bouncing off of the lying man reflecting back to punch me in the face as I brought up the cup taking a sip out of my now cold tea.  
The tea that used to be Sherlocks (that he didn't even touch.) Whenever I had tried to get up, Sherlock would snap his hand out his eyes wide and panicked telling me to sit back down saying how much he appreciated the little input I would give him. Despite the fact I hadn't said much of two words to Sherlock after he entered his mind palace. If I tried to continue to stand up, he would bolt up his back straight, and his shirt wrinkled as he gave me the expression that could only be described as his own version of puppy dog eyes. Those were the eyes I couldn't resist as I would plop back down at the same time as Sherlock as he would let gravity bring him back down onto the couch going back to ignoring the world.  
That's how I got into this scenario, drinking Sherlocks cold tea as he wouldn't allow me to get up in order for me to make a new hot cup of tea. This had been going on for almost three hours, three hours was enough for me to get sick and tired of this behavior, his constant stare upon the ceiling. I had my limits, and I just met mine. I found myself pushing me out of the chair with surprising speed. Lifting my pointer finger out just as quickly to give a sharp point towards Sherlock, as he too shot up into a sitting position, his feet still laid out across the couch.  
"Don't, just don't. I'm going to go in there." I pointed behind me to the kitchen, "make myself some tea. Maybe go for a walk." His eyes widened in response to an expression that read of sound similar to 'how could you do this to me' He spun himself around the couch so his feet now hit the ground, fully facing me in his purple shirt of 'sex'. "And you're not going to stop me." A scoff was the only word I could think of to describe the noise that had come out of my mouth as I stormed towards the kitchen.  
"No, you're right. I need a break from this." I heard the deep breath he took in before I heard the slight creek of the couch, signaling that he was pushing himself up. "A walk would be nice."  
I just continued my walk to the kitchen, not saying anything in response. I had opened the cabinet door taking out the tea packet setting it on the counter before making my move towards the fridge. I opened the door and the light clicked on, I disregarding the hand that was stored in a clear container right beside the milk, instead, going for grabbing the handle of the milk pulling it out of the refrigerator.   
"It's an experiment." He was right beside me now leaning over my shoulder his head right next to my ear as he started to point his hands towards the hand in question. I quickly decided to close the door before he had the chance to fully point it out as I turned around, moving back to the counter with the milk in my hand, putting it next to the tea packets.   
"I know," I grumbled out, giving up on trying to give him the silent treatment, knowing I was going to fail horribly.  
"I'm trying to figure out-"  
"Ah." I found myself facing him as I moved my pointer finger to land over his mouth. A silent command to be quiet. I could feel his smile expand underneath my finger as he reached up to grab my wrist. He pulled it away slightly, just enough so he was able to lean down and give the top a gentle kiss.   
"Right. You're mad at me. I'll stay quiet." He mumbled out, his lips still against my hand before he slowly pulled away. His hand sliding slowly across my palm, from beneath mine as he backed up from me. Allowing me to have my space to do my own thing.  
I was about to turn and get back to work on making the tea before I felt a smirk form on my face as a brilliant idea popped into my head. I snapped both of my hand up to grip either side of his head, doing it on an impulse that caused him not to catch my hands before they locked within his curls. I curled my hands through his hair, shaking them all about with the intent to ruffle up and mess up his curls. His hands shot up in return after the initial shock, cupping mine to stopping the action and keeping them where they were in his hair.  
"Stop it." The words were short and the tone was nothing short of his annoyance, but it had caused a giggle to fall out of my mouth anyway. "Do you know how long it takes me to tame this in the morning?" His words were a slight growl, but I could hear the slight smile in his tone as he managed to pull my hands out of his hair.  
"That's payback." I retorted moving my hands to my hips slightly jutting them out as I started up at him, holding back my smile as I tried to give him a blank face. One that failed terribly as I saw the messed up curls that had individual strings all over the place, and the soft smile that had accompanied the curls laying upon Sherlock's face. A cute combination that brings a smile to my face as he walked closer towards me.  
"Come on. Let's make that tea."  
Sherlock's ruffled up hair was blowing back and forth in the wind. His hands were resting against the cold railing of the bridge, the sky dark despite the hour as he looked over the crystal clear waters of London. We had ended up going on that walk after all.  
"Looks like it's about to rain." Sherlock had now tilted his head up to the sky, looking at the dark clouds looming above us with a somber expression. I found nodded in response, a nonverbal response seemed more appropriate for this time than a vocal one. For the hike down the trail, we had talked back and forth about the case of murder by bees, a case I told Sherlock I would call 'the sting of a thousand bees', to lighten up the mood as we had come up empty-handed. The evidence was just enough to prove it was a murder, but not to help figure out who the murder was despite the letters scattered across the murdered victim.   
I felt something heavy hit my nose, confused I lifted up my hand from where it was resting in my warm coat pocket. Putting it on my nose only to pull it back to see it was slightly wet, I rubbed my forefinger and thumb together to get rid of the moisture. I turned my head to look at him, he was already starting back, we nodded our heads at the same time in understanding. He held out his gloved hand in an invitation, I moved my hand slowly to put my hand into his gloved one. Our fingers curling together as we started our journey back to the city.   
We were silent on the first few minutes walking back, giving me time to think inside my head. Giving me time to think out all the questions within my mind, and try to find an answer for each unsolved on. How do you find a murder that left no clues behind? I felt myself wondering before the answer popped into my mind. You find their weakness.   
"Wait." I found my feet stopped as my mind racked for the answer. Sherlock stopped alongside me, pausing as he looked back at me in confusion, his head tilting slightly to the side. I felt another cold drop hit me, which reminded me why we're were going back in the first place. I picked up my feet once again and started walking forward once more. "What if we're looking at this the wrong way." I heard him hum in response showing to me he was listening and waiting for me to continue. "What if we shouldn't be looking for what the killer left behind, but the victim itself."  
I saw Sherlock paused, his face contorting before going blank, a common facial expression for if he was about to go into his mind palace. I paused with him for a second, before looking up to the sky, seeing darker clouds come closer our way. I pulled slightly on his hand, which made his feet move without conscious thought on his part as we continued forward. Me leading him to make sure he didn't bump into anything while he was deep into his mind space. I saw little dark spots of grey forming from where the droplets hit the concrete of the ground, Sherlock's hair was now slightly damp from the rain, some strands sticking to his forehead as his face continued to reveal nothing.  
He didn't speak again until we were almost off the path, and just behind the building, we had to walk our way around. I continued looking forward to seeing as the rain was starting to pick up, and we needed to get into a cab soon if we wanted to avoid getting soaked by the storm. I paused when I felt a soft pressure against the back of my hand as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across it to alert me of his presence.  
"The killer did believe the victim was a killer. In order to figure out why the killer did it. We need to know what they believed the victim did." I looked up at him, seeing him look at me with a small smile, clearly now being able to see a way to which he could solve the case that in his mind had gone cold.  
"So what we need to do is talk to his family, check over his records," I spoke with more cheer in my voice as a wider smile broke out across his face. He nodded his head rapidly in excitement before pausing, his hand falling from me as he spun his way to be in front of me. Putting his hands on both of my shoulders he spoke.  
"Exactly."  
Then he had turned his way back around speed walking forward as I followed closely behind him as he stuck his hand out to land a cab that happened to be passing by at the exact moment.   
"The game is on?" I felt a smirk caress my face as he turned his head back to face me as the cab slowed down to a stop.  
"The game is on."  
The two push doors were slammed open as Sherlock pushed his way into the police office, me jogging right behind him We were walking past all the counters of policemen sitting at their desks doing paperwork, paperwork Sherlock tended to avoid, while on your way to where Detective Lestrade's office was. His black coat flying behind similar to a cape on a superhero as he rounded the corner. Sherlock almost ran into Sally as he paused about to mumble some apology before realizing who it was, and a scowl instantly found its way across his face. They both had paused now, both giving each other a stern glare. Sally was the first one to speak up.  
"What's up freak? You and your boyfriend up for more murder?" She spat out, clearly annoyed at seeing us. All hatred she had never quite got over was filled in her tone as she never quite warmed up to me and Sherlock. Especially since neither of us was truly part of the police force.  
"Move out of the way Sally before I explain to you how I know your cheating on your boyfriend with Anderson. Once again." Sherlock's voice mimicked Sallys with less malice within his tone as Sally fumed, her face turning dark red as she turned on her heel. You could hear the harsh click of her shoes as she stormed off into the direction from which we came. I smiled slightly in response, the feelings of disinterest was mutual.  
"You know, you shouldn't just barge in there," I mentioned, changing the subject as I looked forward, seeing Sherlock pause as he tilted back his head to glance at me. He rose his eyebrows a silent expression that spoke 'watch me' as he snapped his way back forward, a dramatic flap of his coat as he pushed his way into Lestrade's office.  
"Woah! Sherlock." Lestrade jumped up from his seat slightly before settling back down, removing his hand from his belt where the gun was held. "You can't just barge in like that." Lestrade barked out, doing wild hand gestures before pointing directly at Sherlock before bringing it up to his face to rub his forefinger and thumb in a soothing manner in between his eyes. He sighed once he realized Sherlock wasn't going to speak up, preferring to wait for Lestrade to speak first, mainly to annoy the other detective. "What are you even doing here in the first place? What's so bloody important you have to barge in like this?" He spits out in slight annoyance, his eyes squinted into a slight glare. Sherlock had ignored this as he walked straight up to Lestrade's desk, sticking his hand out in a demanding gesture.   
"I need the records of the bee victim. Where his family lives, criminal records. Anything with possible use." Sherlock's voice was calm but firm as he stared right into Lestrade's eyes, his stance firm and straight, showing he wasn't going to back down until he got what he wants.  
"Alright, alright," Lestrade grumbled back his chair making a screeching sound as he pushed himself away from his desk in his rolly chair. He groaned as he used the side rests to push himself off the chair. Grumbling, he unlocks his key ring from his belt, the keys jingling as he went through each one till he made a little huff walking over to the cabinet. "And why exactly couldn't you call or text me to get these documents ready for you?" He shoved the key into the lock, turning it before giving it a harsh pull in order to pull the drawer.  
"I hadn't really thought of it." Was Sherlock's bored answer as Lestrade let out an exasperated chuckle, turning his head back to look at Sherlock with wide eyes.  
"You didn't think of it?" He laughed again, out of slight frustration waving his arms slightly once again before looking back down at the files, flipping through each one mumbling under his breath. 'Look what I have to deal with' I saw Sherlock's whole body tighten and his eyes fume, lifting up a foot in order to talk a step forward. An action that was blocked by my arm that had been moved from my side to go across his body. He turned his head to face me, his expression a confused angry, as his eyes kept snapping from me back to Lestrade. While giving me another short glance I shook my head no, causing him to slump slightly and eyes to turned into a sad, upset expression, but made no argument against it.  
"Ah, here it is." Lestrade paused his flicking, grabbing and pulling a file out of a stack of them. He closed his drawer with a harsh bump from his hip, ignoring locking it back for right now was he focused on reading the name of the file. "Mr. Kylen Lancaster" Lestrade spoke with a tone of a teacher giving a lecture walking over to Sherlock, plopping the file down in his open hand, not expecting a thank you in response. A quite correct assumption as Sherlock instantly turned around to walk out the door.  
"Thanks." I murmured out, for Sherlock to which Lestrade answered with a nod of his own. I quickly turned around giving another quick 'thanks' as I closed the door behind me. Jogging in order to catch up with Sherlock who was almost all the way down the hall already.  
"Interesting, " I hummed in response to the statement. Keeping my newspaper standing straight despite holding it with one hand in order to take a sip of the freshly made tea. We had just gotten home and Sherlock removed his coat, loosely hanging it on the rack before instantly moving over to his signature couch plopping himself down upon it as he got right to his reading 'Kylen Lancaster' file trying to find any potential evidence to figure out who our potential killer may be. "It says here he was on trial for the murder of Maxwell Bull." I found my head popping up from the London Central newspaper that I was formerly engrossed in.   
"How did he get away with that?" My voice was slightly higher pitched and more scratchy as I tried to get a grip on the concept. Had the killer of this man been correct after all?  
"The jury declared it self defense," Sherlock said in a matter of fact tone like he found the answer obvious and expected me to get it from just what he told me. I rolled my eyes at the tone he used, he always seems to forget not everyone thinks like him.  
"No shit Sherlock. I was wondering about the details, why the jury declared it as self-defense." I replied in a snarky tone, lying through my teeth as I really hadn't considered the self-defense root, but I wasn't about to let myself lose this round.  
"Oh..." Was all Sherlock breathed out, his eyes had widened a little bit. His facial expression turned blank. He turned his head to face towards me. "Of course." He mumbled out. "Right, we should ask his family and find the location of the people who were part of Maxwell Bull's family."  
"So where do they live?"  
"45 Kings Road, London house number NW39." Sherlock laid out the matter of factly as he read the address from the files within his hands.  
I heard a harsh slap and realized Sherlock had slammed the file shut, staring directly at me as if he were waiting for me to say something. I stared right back lifting up the tea to my mouth for one last drink of my tea before speaking up.  
"Alright. Yes, we can leave now you pouty baby." I rolled my eyes as he huffed in disapproval at his new nickname. Despite that he had still shoved himself out of the chair, reaching for his coat upon the coat rack. A coat he shouldn't have even taken off in the first as he slid it around his shoulder. I already had my coat on, as I had never taken it off, set down the cup that was in my head, setting it on to coaster getting up to go to Sherlock who was now waiting by the door.  
The car bounced up and down as we drove down a particularly pothole-ridden road.  
"This transition is going to be hard to write on my blog," I grumbled out. Despite this new breakthrough in this case. I also understood that this was one to blog about. I knew writing a blog would be difficult but I didn't expect it to be this annoying.  
"Hmm?" I jerked my head to the side, not expecting a response as Sherlock lifted up his head from within his palm and turned to glance at me.  
"It's such a short transition between one part to another, almost seems insignificant, except it holds an important part." A scowl found its way across my face my eyes squinting as I tried, and failed, to think of a solution.  
"Oh, I see," Sherlock answered back in response, his body posture slumped before straightening up once again. "I don't see what's so important in making it perfect. If it's accurate, then that should be enough." His voice sounded so serious that it brought a laugh to force its way out of my mouth. One of easy humor as I turned to look directly at him, a small smile resting on my face.  
"You should tell that to the fans."   
"I could work that out." I saw a smirk forming on his face, even as he turned his face towards the window to try and hide that fact.   
"Please don't." I let out a short unamused laugh, lifting my hand to rest on his shoulder, giving it a few soft pats for good measure. Sometimes he could be so ignorant towards issues he deems unimportant. "The fans would go even wilder." Sherlock turned his head to face me, a wide grin breaking out on his face, his bright blue eyes shimmering with joy.  
"I'm going to take that as a yes."   
"Oh god, please don't." I groaned out.  
\-----  
"Well…" I breathed out seeing the cloud of cold white form in front of my face "Here we are." I raised my ungloved hand (a mistake on my part) to give two knocks on the dark wooden door, the sound reverberating against the surprisingly empty streets of London, sending pain right up my cold stinging hand.  
Sherlock was standing right beside me, his black-gloved hands tucked neatly within his coat pocket, waiting silently for the owner of the home. You heard the soft click of the lock before the sound of the door making a high pitched screeching made it to your ears as the door was slowly pulled open.  
"Hello?" The voice was soft and quiet. A sound similar to a whisper in the wind. Whistling the emotion of wishing. A wish I couldn't quite decipher as to what they were wishing for. It made me feel as if we're not wanted here.  
"Mrs. Bull?" The lady shifted on her feet, pulling the door open slightly so we were able to see more of the woman hidden behind the door. Her light brown hair fell over to cover most of her left eye, leaving one dark brown eye to gaze up at us. "Could we come in?" Sherlock was putting on a sympathetic tone, trying to encourage the other to let us in. Wanting to get more information on her husband's death.  
"Uh." She paused for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of us as if sizing us up, before making a decision and opening the door wide enough for us to enter. The motion was accompanied by the very 'reassuring' "Sure."  
Sherlock was through the door and walking to the middle of the room as soon as the door was open all the way. Looking at the walls and the layout of the place, along with the photos scattered around the room. I had entered soon after him at a much slower pace, giving the lady a soft 'thank you' as an attempt to calm her down from this seeming invasion of her house.  
"So, what's exactly going on?" A perfect question to be asking at this exact moment as we have yet to explain ourselves, and we were complete strangers she just let into her house.  
"We are here to help solve the case of your deceased husband Mr. Maxwell Bull." Her head jerked towards Sherlock who had walked over to the swirly designed oak mantel, studying the pictures on it. Not taking notice of the woman who quickly found her way beside him.  
"I thought it was already solved Mr…" She hesitated to wait for a name to put to the mysterious figure beside her.  
"Sherlock."  
"Mr. Sherlock. The case was deemed self-defense." She brushed strands of hair that fell onto her face and tucked it behind her ear, in a soft motion, glancing at Sherlock, who only hummed in acknowledgment.  
Sherlock took a deep breath, clearly preparing himself to ask an important question as he turned to face the women. Giving her a long once over, looking for something within her stance or posture to explain the answer to the question given to her. When he found what he was looking for he opened his mouth ready to ask follow-up questions.  
"Well, Ms. Bull. Striking evidence has come up to prove that the killing of your husband may not have been in self-defense." He turned his sharp blue gaze back to the mantel, his eyes still searching for something within the photos in oak made frames.   
"Oh…" Was the first word out of her mouth. "But the case was closed. They said it was over." Her voice became more frantic as she paced her way right beside Sherlock grabbing his shoulders and turning him to face her, shaking his shoulders back and forth slightly. "I thought it was over." Her voice sounded panicked now, as the thought of her husband being innocent was the worst possible thing to happen.  
"Aren't you glad? This could clear your husband's name." I tried to hold back my slight anger and suspicion, I mean, who wouldn't want the chance to help clear your significant other's name? Despite how long it has been since the trial, but I knew it could just be from nerves as well, and I tried to keep that in mind.  
"I mean." She snapped her body around to face me, clearly forgetting that I was also within the room until I broke the silence. Her eyes widen as she looked directly into my slightly squinted eyes, clearly feeling anxious about something. "Yes, I just." She paused pulling her bottom lip beneath her teeth. "Don't want to go through the whole process again."   
I felt my lip pull up into a snarl on instinct, without warning. I found bubbling anger about to spew out of my mouth as I opened it up in order to call her out. Sherlock had beat me to cutting the knife through the tension though, with a statement and tone that was supposed to calm both of us down.   
"Thanks for your time Mrs. Bull, but we must get going now." I snapped my head towards Sherlock, giving him the full-on glare I was holding back. Lifting up my eyebrow in an 'are you serious' look, one of which he replied back with a roll of his eyes as he walked over to me. He pushed his shoulder against mine as he walked by, a silent command to follow along.  
I rolled my eyes as I turned on my heels, giving Mrs. Bull one quick glance over my shoulder before snapping my head back around following Sherlock out the door. As his hand pulled out in order to get the attention of any passing by cabbies, I took this opportunity to snap to him how stupid this man beside me could be sometimes.  
"It's her!" I shouted in a whisper, pointing back at the door of which we had just come out of. "She killed him, that's why she doesn't want the case to continue." I hissed out, turning my head towards the door to glare at it like it would melt allowing me to get to the woman inside.  
"John." He grabbed my shoulders, pushing down my arm that was pointing at the door, moving his hands down my arms till my hands rested beside my body. He moved his hands back up to my shoulders after he was satisfied doing slight soothing circles, being extra careful on the one with the bullet wound. "John look at me." I snapped my head towards him, a full-on glare ready to meet his face that was most likely to be snarky, but it was not his eyes were empathetic, something that caused all the anger to boil out of me as my tense shoulders now went lax beneath his hands.  
"Oh, God. I messed up, didn't I?" I whispered out, quickly realizing my mistake, Sherlock didn't think it was her at all. He let out a soft sigh, dropping his hands off my shoulders, but never breaking his eye contact with me.  
"She didn't kill her husband. I know that much." He gave me a soft smile that almost seemed out of place as he once again moved to stick out his hand, his gaze turning over to the side watching as a cab pulled over after a few seconds. Once again pushing my shoulders in order to guide me into the awaiting cab, because at the moment I was only half aware of the world around me, before moving to sit right beside me, giving the directions to our flat to the cab driver.   
"Then. Then why did she not want the case to continue?" I found myself asking once had snapped out of my trance back into reality. Looking around and realizing we were already on the road, before shaking my head as I started to remember what happened.  
"She became a disgrace in her town when the accusations got out. It's been a few months, the hate her husband's death caused had finally calmed down. She doesn't want any more attention, even if it just people apologizing." Sherlock looked at me, giving me a slightly sympathetic smile that seemed awkward as if he wasn't sure what to do exactly. Staring and waiting for my response he knew was to come.  
"Oh shoot. I really need to go back and apologize to them." I turned my head to look behind me, watching the streets pass behind me, realizing once again that it was a bit late for that before turning my head back to face Sherlock. "I'm a terrible human being, aren't I? God, that poor woman." I put my head within my hands feeling Sherlock gently place his hands upon my back, trying his best to comfort, knowing he wasn't good at words but could be rather comforting with his actions. "So that means we're back to square one right?" I lifted up my head to look at Sherlock with a desperate upset look who was still looking towards me.  
He had turned his head away, after that, his eyes pulling together as he thought upon the subject. "Yes, it appears so." His head shifted down to look at his legs, his hand resting on my back felt like it got ten pounds heavier with the weight of the words spoken.  
That's when the recognizable sound of a vibrating ringtone buzzed throughout the car, causing Sherlock to grumble something unintelligible out as he jerked up, roughly pulling his phone out of his coat pocket, sending a glare at it.  
"Who's calling me? I'm busy." He growled out at the phone before his face lit up in confusion recognition. "It's Lestrade." He turned to look at me, and with my nod of approval, he answered the phone.  
The call was strangely silent, Sherlock barely speaking a word throughout the whole conversation. A multitude of expressions had crossed across his face, each one unique and flashing across his face to quick to be able to figure out which one meant. I watched silently, feeling nervous as I pulled on my bottom lip. Sherlock spoke out a soft but firm 'be right there' before hitting the end call button with a sharp beep, ending the call without even looking at the phone.  
"There's been another murder."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end, this chapter is sorta a bit of filler, to help bring context to the story to help you solve the case right beside them. Sorry if it's not up to par with the first chapter. I promise it gets better.


	3. The Poisoned Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find a new body and a potential lead suspect.

"Another murder?" I struggled to turn my body around wincing when I pulled too much on my muscles but was able to soon turn so that my whole body was facing Sherlock. "How…" I paused slightly, pulling my bottom lip beneath my teeth, thinking of what to say. "Do you think it's the same guy?" Without being able to see my own expression I could tell it was one of desperation, an exact carbon copy of the emotions bubbling within my mind.  
Sherlock didn't speak for a while, as if considering this idea as well before taking a deep breath of air before speaking out his thoughts. "It seems unlikely that two murders happen within two days of each other." I nodded my head, waiting for him to continue as he started at the back of the driver's chair like it held all the secrets to the world. "The police department came to the conclusion that these were connected. Lestrade illustrated in brief detail that there was another note on the scene. This time it was hidden within the trees surrounding the body. I believe it's the same guy." He finally turned to look at me, his eyes shining a hint of a sympathetic note, but there was also a hint of excitement twinkling beneath the depths of his baby blue eyes.  
"So a serial killer huh?" I found my shoulders falling down, a deep calming breath comes out of me. Looking out in front of me in contempt as ai remembered back to the time when I had first worked on a case with Sherlock. This was like a normal Tuesday for us, why was I so worried in the first place? We could handle this, after all, they always make mistakes and will always be caught in the end.  
"Seems so, " Was all that was spoken, leaning forward putting his hand on the seat in front of him, slowly giving new directions to the cabbie. The cabbie of which swore in return as it was the opposite way of which we were previously going, Sherlock, of course, ignored this as he leaned back. Turning his head to look at me with a soft smile, his eyes glinting with a hint of danger as he chuckled out. "This case just got a whole lot more interesting."  
I found myself laughing along with him, rolling my eyes at our immature behavior that seemed to always surround us during supposedly dark situations. "Only you could think that way about a potential serial killer" Shaking my head softly in return, still chuckling as he returned the gesture with a smirk of his own.  
"We. Only we would find this interesting." His eyes glinted with a sense of contempt, as he gently laid his hand on top of mine, curling his gloved fingers in between my ungloved fingers. "You do need to start wearing gloves outside, it's getting closer to winter."   
I barked out a loud laugh turning my head to the side to look out the window like he's ever cared about something like that before, it's like he looked up what to do. I found myself shaking my head and continuing to laugh at the thought of him looking up 'how to woo your boyfriend for dummies' online. I turned back to look at Sherlock. "If I wore gloves that means you'll hold my hand less often." I knew it wasn't entirely true, but it was fun to attempt to mess with Sherlock's head, if he's caught by surprise, he won't be able to notice the lie I was speaking. (A tactic I was glad to learn)  
"You know if you ever want to hold hands you can just ask." His eyebrow was raised in a questioning look like it was such a stupid assumption. "If anything you are the one who prefers not to publicly express it as much." I found a smile across my face as I leaned towards him a bit putting our faces closer together. Speaking in a quieter tone I spoke up.  
"But it's not the same as when you come over and grab my hand without warning." I saw his eyes widen and his head tilt to the side as he contemplated my words. I leaned away from his face and sit back in my previous position, the tone turning a little less light as I opened up about why. "It makes it seem like you want to be with me." I turned and gave him a large smile, trying my best to express how content I felt on the inside, despite the worries that plague my mind.   
I felt him lifting up my hand and I opened up my eyes as I stared down in slight confusion at my hand where he was lifting it up to his mouth to give it a slight kiss on the back of my hand. I looked up at his face, which had a sly smile on it as he set my hand back down.  
"If you wanted me to do what I want whenever I want. You could've just asked. I'm always willing to follow." He gave me a smirk like he was the smartest person to ever exist. I rolled my eyes at his behavior as I lifted up my other hand to point a finger directly at his face.  
"That does not give you permission to put decapitated heads wherever you wish to put them," I growled out, to which he replied with a rolling eye of his own, turning his head to look at the seat in front of them as he hunched over and a tiny frown formed on his face.  
"You're no fun." He murmured out in a slightly annoyed tone to which I removed my hand from his and started patting his hair.  
"Aww am I such a terrible person." I cooed in a human talking to a puppy sort of way, before turning my tone into a more stern tone. "Too bad cause you to live with me, and I will throw it away. No matter how 'crucial' it is." I made sure to physically make quotation marks around the word crucial.  
He groaned, leaning his head back gripping my hand, which I had conveniently placed back on his hair, and from his hair he slapped my hand on the leather seats of the cab, giving me an icy cold glare. His mouth had opened probably to say something along the lines of, 'but what if it is important to the case that I need to solve' but the voicing of his opinion was cut short when the cab came to an abrupt stop. The cabbie quickly turned around, sliding open the window separating up and was holding his hand out for the money we owed. Luckily for me, I was already so used to paying, my body had already taken out my wallet and pulled out some money without conscious thought. Which allowed me to get out of the car in record time, in order to keep up with Sherlock's long strides towards the crime scene.  
If you were to ask me exactly how Sherlock found his way to the crime scene with little to no information from the police who were scattered along the edge of the forest, I would have no clue. My best guess he managed to track footprints, even though the bumpy terrain of which this forest was composed of. Which of course caused me to get left behind.  
"Jesus Sherlock, could you slow down for one second?" I shouted at the man who was at least fifteen strides ahead of me.  
"The game is on John!" He replied back, his gloved hand raising up to point his pointer finger to the sky, but he did slow down his stride in order for me to catch up just in time to reach the crime scene.  
The crime scene was horrid. All of my time in Afghanistan could have not prepared me for this horrific scene. I thought the worst part of the war was watching my fellow men die slowly on the operating table, to which I was not able to save them and ease their pain as they passed on. This though was terrible on its own level. The man has been strung up, the ripped bark of the tree that was bent to hold up onto the man that had found its way shoved underneath the man's skin. His arms and legs held as far back behind as they could go nailed into the bark to keep the man suspended in the air.  
His chest cavity was ripped, his ribs snapped and shoved outward to be shown clearly, the supposed to be white bones were decorated with dots of dark blood splattered all across each ripped apart rib. All organs of which should be filled in the space between the ribs were gone all of which besides the heart. The heart had a green thorny vine wrapped tightly around the outside, squeezing the heart so it looks like it was going to pop at any moment. At the top of the heart rested a bright vibrant flower that was gently placed so that it was directly in the middle. Similarly, the whole chest cavity was filled to the brim with outlandish flowers of which I had never seen before in my life.  
I quickly deduced that there were also bees at this crime scene from the bee catchers that already had some bees in containment and the few that laid gently upon the flowers of which they were brought to pollinate. I took a glance up towards the face of the corpse and a sick sense of dread filled my entire system as I realized the crazy flower obsession didn't stop there. Flowers were forcibly shoved into the eyes sockets, seemingly while the man was still alive based on the long thick dark stripes of blood that fell down from beneath the eyes, dripping down onto the already blood-soaked soil. I shivered, closing my eyes as I slightly shook my head back and forth to try and attempt to wipe the image from my mind.  
"His name is Niko Salas, his only criminal record was from a few years ago, he went to court for-" Lestrade started but was cut off.  
"Shut up." Sherlock snapped out, finding the information inconsequential.  
I forced myself to ignore the body hanging below and glanced up from where the corpse was hanging from the tree. My eyes squinting trying to figure out what was carved deeply within the tree above his head. A ragged S shape was carved into a tree with some sort of blunt object of which I could only assume was a knife. I stole a confused glance towards Sherlock who happened to glance at me at the same time. He snapped his head back to the body whipping his hand out, pressing it up against my chest until I started walking backward, Sherlock followed me on this adventure as we backed up and more trees came into view. That's when the note that Sherlock mentioned to me came into view, carved into the trees.  
Poison. Each letter was carved deeply within the bark, each one more jagged than the last as if he was slowly getting more and more enraged as he continued to shove that knife deep within the harsh make-up of the forest. Taking a glance back at Sherlock, I saw his face full of wonder his bright blue eyes sparkling as he stepped closer to the letter in question before crouching to his knees. Everything else forgotten as he started looking over the corpse with his little microscope he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere.  
"Bees seems to be a common denominator," I mumbled out once I had stepped my way over to the crouching Sherlock who was still intensely scanning the corpse.  
"Hmm." Was the only acknowledgment he gave and I found a snarl forming on my face with a slight eye roll to accompany the look. This tended to happen every time, but he somehow managed to make it just as irritating each time.  
I moved my attention, staring deeply into the blood-stained petals of the man's eyes which despite everything seemed to stare deeply into my soul with that blank flowery stare. My mind ran around with a multitude of theories, my head swimming with possible explanations as to why they chose to show off this murder in this particular fashion.  
"The flowers around his heart are poisonous." This snatched my attention as I turned to the still crouching Sherlock who seemed even more intrigued by this investigation more than before.  
"That would explain the words poison carved into the trees." I inquired, keeping my attention on Sherlock as I lifted my hand to be put underneath my chin.   
"Indeed it is my dear Watson." He looked up at me, giving me a confident smirk at my 'caught off guard' expression, one of which found its way to become a snarl as Sherlock turned his head back down. I turned my head away as well.  
"Why bees?" Was a rhetorical question that silently tumbled out of Sherlock's lips. "Lestrade." He turned his head to the lead inspector, who snapped his attention from the body to the squatting detective. "Can you run a background check on any beekeepers in the relative vicinity of the two crime scenes?"  
"Do you think a beekeeper is behind these murders?" Lestrade questioned pushing himself up from the tree that he had been previously leaning up against.  
"Only one way to find out."

\---  
Sherlock stared down at his phone as he grunted out the next address of the next potential suspect to the taxi driver that seemed just as annoyed as Sherlock was. This was going to be the third beekeeper we've seen, all previous ones leading us to a dead-end of this ongoing mystery.   
I cleared my throat amidst the silence.  
"We're visiting Turner Randall next… Who knows, maybe he'll be it. His name does sound the most serial killer-ish out of the bunch." I mumbled out trying to lighten up the storm cloud that seemed to be constantly hovering over Sherlock's dark curly locks.  
"Names have nothing to do with the potential of someone becoming a serial killer or not." He huffed out as he turned his head to look out the cab window, his brows pulled into a constant upset stare.  
"I wouldn't say that's completely accurate. If you name your child a name that they will get teased for, it could potentially be what pushes them to enjoy inflicting the same pain upon others." I watched as he turned his head towards me, his pale blue eyes staring into mine with a blank look.  
"Good point." Sherlock rolled out. "But still highly unlikely, so, irrelevant." He turned his gaze back to the window but a small quirk of his lip helped bring a comfortable silence back over the car ride.  
With a hop in his step, Sherlock exited the cab with me sliding right behind him. Speed walking up to the door was something of a regular occurrence as we made it over to a large, dark brown, wooden door with a large metal knocker. And to seal the deal of the Victorian era theme, the door was jerked open before Sherlock could even get his black, gloved hand upon the knocker.  
"What do you want? This is private property, no solicitors." His deep rumbly voice growled out as he stared at me and Sherlock with an icy green glare that was reminiscent of the summer greens.  
"We're not solicitors," Sherlock grumbled out, finding it obvious that they were in fact not solicitors. I took it to myself to explain further.  
"We're here to discuss the murder of Niko Salas."  
"Who?" He questioned looking to the side as if he was thinking before his face became defensive, "I am not a murder suspect, I wouldn't harm a single person. I take care of bees!" His face was red in fury as he tried to slam the door in our faces, but Sherlock caught it with his right arm.  
"You're not helping your case here," Sherlock spoke, his vibrant blue eyes rolling in annoyance as he continued to hold the door open as the man attempted to push the door closed.  
"We are just here to help." I supplied to try and bring him off the defensive barrier he surrounded himself with.  
"Do you even have a warrant? Are you even the police?" The guy snapped out angrily. Snapping his eyes back and forth between me and Sherlock as if he was trying to figure out all the untold secrets we hold. Sherlock was the first to speak up, and by that, I mean to gloat.  
“I’m a consulting detective, whenever the police are out of their depths, which is always, they consult me to help,” Sherlock stated with an upward quirk of his lip, looking as if he had just solved the hardest puzzle in the world.  
Turner loosened his white-knuckled grip on the door but continued to stare silently at us for a few extra moments as if he was considering the words spoken were true or not. After a while, he seemed to come to his conclusion as his body posture relaxed to a more curious posture.  
“You’re that detective with the two hat thingies?” He moved his hand up to his head, moving it back and forth on the side of his skull to indicate the two-sided hat Sherlock wore as an attempt to avoid the press. An attempt that clearly backfired, as Sherlock’s face turned from a confident smile to an annoyed half-glare as soon as those words left Turner’s mouth.  
“Yes, that thing.” Sherlock spits out that as if it was a poisoned word that he needed to spit out in order to survive, his hatred of that hat seeping into his voice. I continued to give my friendly smile, even as I was holding back the urge to tease Sherlock further.  
Turner shifted and pushed the door open all the way using his foot to prop the door open tilting his head toward the house then back towards where we were standing. Sherlock instantly took the invitation upon himself and walked straight into the held open wooden door. I walked slowly behind him giving the guy a soft thank you as I took a step in order to walk through.  
“Alright, the only reason I even let you enter in my vicinity is so then you can clear my name. I ain’t going to allow my business to fall apart due to false accusations.” His voice had a slight southern accent I noticed as he spoke more openly about his thoughts.  
“Did you move from the United States recently?” Sherlock questioned as he turned his head towards the couch in the middle of the room before plopping himself down on it like he owned the place, which metaphorically, he did.   
Tucker did glare at Sherlock for the action but overall passed over it quickly as he shoved his hands into his jean pockets.  
“A few years ago, just haven’t hung around enough people to catch the accent I guess.” He mumbled out shrugging his shoulders in a circular motion.  
“Interesting.” Was the only response Sherlock mumbled out, an action that caused Tucker’s eyes to widen as his hands got removed from his pockets. He quickly put his hands in front of him and shook his hands back and forth as he let out a slightly panicked speech.  
“D-d-don’t get me wrong, I jus’ prefer staying home with my bees and my wife. I just seem to connect to them better than the people here. I-I-had to move to make my beekeeping business in order to continue going.” Sherlock popped one eye open and pushed himself up on the couch into a sitting position.  
“So, would you say you prefer your bees over other humans.” Sherlock leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. A pose that made me realize this was a question that would determine if he would still be a suspect or not.  
“I mean... I would always choose my wife over my bees, others, I don’t know anyone well enough to remove my only source of income to please them.” Turner turned his head away from the icy eyes of Sherlock’s almost as if he was ashamed of his answer.   
This makes me question my opinion as to if he really would commit a murder like this. The way he explained himself could potentially sound incriminating, but yet he chose to say the truth. Whether it was because he knew he couldn’t or if he wanted to try and prove his innocence by giving his truthful answer to avoid suspicions for why he would be lying.  
“What if someone’s life hanged in the balance?” Sherlock quipped up once again leaning even more forward as he continued to stare into Turner’s skull.  
“I-Im not quite sure how anyone's life could hang in the balance-”  
“What if your business hung in the balance.” I saw fury akin to Sherlock’s as Turner snapped his head towards Sherlock, his eyes seething with anger as he spits out a bunch of profanities directed at Sherlock before snapping out a coherent statement.  
“Oh, you to jus’ trying to set me up aren't ya? Is that how you catch all your criminals by pushing them into the corner and make them confess something that makes them look guilty? Well, I ain’t falling for it no more! I want you all out of my house! I’ve dealt with enough crazy people coming to my beekeeping business this week.” His face was seething by the time he finished as he shoved a harsh point towards the front door, one of which Sherlock was already making his way towards. I put both hands up to show I meant no harm as I mumbled out a soft,  
“Sorry, he didn’t mean to, he doesn’t know-”  
“Just go.” Was the soft defeated voice that left the man’s mouth as he turned his head away from the door, while I turned my body to walk out. “He already succeeded.”  
I stormed out towards Sherlock with the anger I never knew existed, he quickly turned around a smile on his face before his expression dropped as he saw a glimpse of my fury. His eyes widened as I found my way right in front of him as I stood on my tippy toes to get on his eye level as I jabbed my pointer finger into his chest.  
“And what was all of that for?” Sherlock’s face seemed to go blank, his mind sifting through his mind palace for an answer. His face then turned into a smirk as he looked up towards the sky.  
“It’s quite obvious John I'm trying to solve the case, he clearly has some anger issues, Which fits with the profile of our killer.” I wasn’t even aware that I really thought of doing the action until I felt my hand come in contact with Sherlock’s cheek.   
A slap that made my hand sting with pain which I ignored as I curled my left hand up into a fist and set it to the side, keeping my eyes directly on Sherlock as he recovered from the shock the slap gave him. He gently reached up to his face cupping his cheek in his palm before mumbling out something.  
“That’s a bit of an overreaction I’d say.” I threw my hands up in an angry surrender, there was no way I was going to get it through his thick skull that this was not the proper way to handle a situation at all.   
I turned my back on Sherlock and folded my hands across my chest, honestly done with seeing Sherlock’s confused face like I was acting like the crazy one in this situation. I swear sometimes Sherlock could be so dense that it felt as if I was talking to a brick wall instead of a human being. I felt Sherlock’s presence behind me before the words stumbled into my ear.  
“Look I.” He paused as if he was residing if this was the correct route or not, a wise decision on his part. “I’m sorry. What did I do wrong.”  
“Everything Sherlock. Everything.” I turned my head to the side where Sherlock was hovering behind me to the right, his eyes putting on the puppy dog eyes, from which I only knew it was because he didn’t want to get banned from doing his experiments again. I turned my head back forward, not allowing myself to be the bait to that trick once again.  
“You’ve never questioned my harsh tactics before? What’s so different this time?” When I turned to look at Sherlock he looked genuinely curious about the question, I took in a deep breath and let it out, allowing myself the time to calm down, before I attempted to explain to the thick-headed, twig, the detective that he had crossed multiple lines.  
“While I understand that we have different morals and standards, we are there to help solve crimes and help people. Not to make them fear us without any legitimate proof that they were the ones who in fact committed the crime.” I let out a deep sigh, “None of this could be used as evidence now because he could say he was forced into saying those things. And he would be in the right too! Whether he was the killer or not.” I turned to look at Sherlock who was nodding in agreement.  
“I have an idea, we can go home, you can make yourself a cup of tea and read the newspaper, or watch bad telly. Whatever you want.” I gave a confused glance towards Sherlock, half expecting this to be some sort of set up that I haven’t figured out yet.  
“What about the rest of the beekeepers?” I asked suspiciously confused as to why Sherlock didn’t want to investigate any further.  
“We can do those tomorrow,” Sherlock stated with a smile on his face. “We both need a break from this case anyway,” I raised a questioning eyebrow at Sherlock like I was going to believe he needed a break from a case. “I need to sort out the evidence in my mind palace anyway, it would be beneficial to both of us.”  
I stared blankly at Sherlock for a good five seconds, half expecting him to change his mind and wish to continue on his hunt of beekeepers, before shaking my head back and forth and mumbling out an,  
“Ugh, Alright let’s get going. You’re hailing the cab.” I muttered out slightly annoyed but comforted by the thought of sitting on the couch with a nice hot cup of tea as I continued to read over the newspaper I never had time to finish.  
Sherlock jumped at the acceptance that he had gained from me and speed walked to the end of the driveway putting out his arm to hail a cab.  
“You realize I still hate you right?”  
“Always.”

\---

"Why would they use something that can be easily related back to them?" I glared gently at Sherlock who wasn’t even looking at me, rather he was sprawled across the entire couch staring up at the ceiling with his hands underneath his chin. I gently closed the newspaper I was reading and closed it, setting it gently down upon my leg. Realizing I was going to become part of this conversation whether I really wanted to or not.   
"Many serial killers have a signature," I added to the open-air half expecting to not get an answer rather another question that Sherlock wished to get my attention on, despite our agreement we made not even fifteen minutes ago.   
"Their signature is to mark the body with their sins."  
“I don’t know then.” I tilted my head down to reopen the newspaper back to the original page, expecting the conversation to be over. Instead, I heard a ruffle of fabric and when I looked up I saw Sherlock had turned toward me and staring at me with expectant eyes.  
“So what’s with the bees?” He was now sitting in a slouching position as he used his hand to prop up his head as he awaited my answer.   
"What if the bees were a coincidence?" I spoke the first thing to come to my mind while setting my newspaper back upon the table of which I grabbed it off of, knowing Sherlock liked to use me as a way to eliminate certain possibilities that were too “simple” for him to even consider. He paused for a minute as if he was considering what I said, I took the time to take a sip of my now lukewarm tea.  
“What makes you think that dear Watson?” I almost choked on my tea from the surprise of my theory not being turned down outright, I ended coughing multiple times to clear my throat as I rubbed my watery eyes all while under the scrutiny of Sherlock who was staring at me as if I was an idiot. Before I was able to get the explanation to leave my mouth,  
“I mean the second one was in the forest and there were a lot of flowers packed into that one area of the forest, it wouldn’t be unlikely to see a bunch of bees around a bunch of flowers. Besides from what I can remember,” I shivered at the thought of the hanging corpse, “There appeared to be no bee stings post mortem correct?”  
“The bees were a coincidence,” Sherlock whispered in a solid tone, his eyes gleaming a sense of adventure that was soon to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long! The school was being terrible and I had a horrible case of writer's block. I'm overall proud of this chapter even if the bottom half seems a little bit like filler.  
Hopefully, with summer coming up soon, I can start to post on a more regular basis.


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